all of this time, i've spent with the prettiest girl, i'm the luckiest boy in the world

I never had a problem with THEM, I had a problem with HIM.
and I still do. but I don't anymore.
:K

hey look, there's one flight of stairs.

speaking france

speaking france
Originally uploaded by green.finch

Hey. I miss talking to you.

staring at the ceiling

staring at the ceiling
Originally uploaded by green.finch

I think I'm pretty boring when I'm happy. But it's okay, because I'm happy.
:)

three sad pandas cubed times y

Your smile is contagious like H1N1, which we sometimes mix up and call N1H1, and sometimes we call it oinkbarf, and it reminds us of a game involving squeaking piggies, and sometimes we call it what everyone else calls it, and pretend to panic like everyone else.
Who am I even talking about now? I have no idea. I'm just rambling because I'm happy and I can't stop smiling and JesusChristLordInHeaven why am I so happy?
Activate your Jesus powers and tell me.

On second thought, don't. I already know. :)
Doubly. :) :)

"It's a STACK of SCIENCE!"

I've got to finish this Stack of Science by...Thursday. Morning. Because that's when it's due.
But I have to finish it tonight so I can study it.
I have to finish goal 4 and do goal 5 plus questions.
So if I'm online before it's finished, kick me off the internet. PLEASE.
Also, if I'm using my camera before the Stack of Science is finished, take it away. (But then give it back later.) (I need my Luke.)

eight pink peonies in composition

eight pink peonies in composition, originally uploaded by green.finch.

l.o.v.e.

l.o.v.e.
Originally uploaded by green.finch

this picture has always made me smile. i like the bright pink.

Transition

Transition
Originally uploaded by green.finch

yesterday was fun.
this wasn't from yesterday.
it's from last summer.
i'm slow.
:K

i'm singing

i'm singing in the sun
with no clouds to laugh away,
but i'll laugh anyways
just because there are people.

if somebody tells you, hey, stop drop and roll,

say, it might save my skin, but it won't save my soul.


I don't know what you're talking about,
maybe me.
Maybe...
not me.
Who knows?
I'm too tired to try and figure you out this time.
I'm still waiting for those words,
and it seems like I'll have to wait for tomorrow to finally see them.
Who knows when I'll get to hear them again?
Maybe it'll fill me up
and I won't be so insecure,
with all these paperweights stuck to my shoes.

It only takes those two things,
either one,
or both,
to make me okay.
Anything else is just temporary,
and a compliment,
not an explanation.
I'm happy, don't get me wrong,
but if I search for soup,
I only get one answer,
the one answer I want to hear right before I go to sleep
to make everything else go away.
You're talking to some invisible entity,
someone I know,
someone I know is there,
but I don't know who it is.
No matter how many times I yell out into the night,
who are you?
I'm not getting an answer.
The ocean is too far away to respond to a nondescript teenager's petty questions.

Get out of my mind.

What am I, darling? Imperfect does not equal I'mperfect. You said I was perfect, and I know it's not true. How can I trust anything else you say?
I don't want to work.


There's one thing I need to hear right now, and I'm not hearing it.

for you.

This one also needs a title.

And makes me cry.
And was originally going to be about someone, but then I decided to write it about someone else. I'll write a song for the first someone later.

You held out to me
not only your world
but your whole universe,
so then I
broke your universe
into pieces and pieces
and I'd
already done it once before.
Sometime soon,
I'll buy you a new universe,
and a pretty girl
who's not too smart
but just as nice
and as good of a friend,
according to you,
as me.

I'll find you
someone who cares,
and is almost as lost as you,
someone who knows
what it's like to be alone,
and every day,
I'm sad that I'm happy,
when someone like you,
so incredibly sweet,
and best friend material,
is so incredibly alone.

I've told you things
I've never told anyone,
I know that you
only need a friend,
I can only give you
what you need,
never what you want-
something more than just
a friendly hug
and a wave,
and a comforting smile.

There are so many things
that I want to ask you
that I can never say.
There's a line between us,
and I try not to cross it,
because I know it might lead to
something more
than I might've wanted,
something you don't need...
I can only tell you
how much I will miss you,
I know that I'll see you soon,
prancing 'round the stage,
with your versatile voice
and your Mona Lisa smile.

So sometime soon,
you'll find a pretty girl,
who's not too smart,
but still, real nice,
and the perfect friend,
and you'll forget about me.
You will forget me.

i've got a song.

I can't decide on a title. And for all you less musically inclined people, V is for verse, C is for chorus, and B is for bridge.

Woah, I just realized this song is practically all triplets. I'm impressed. I love triplets.

V1.
I don't want to skip over
your face in a crowd
or to show I'm fine without you
by laughing real loud
so just listen to me
and my strange rhyme scheme
I want to call a truce here.

C.
I'll reach out my hand
you can leave it or take it
when I gave you my heart
I didn't dream that you'd break it
now I'm done with the games
and I'm done with the hating
I'll reach out my hand,
outstretched, waiting,
for something new.

V2.
I'm tired of turning
away when you're near me.
Now that they're gone,
those childish tear streaks,
I think that it's time
you and I were allies
so now I'm almost begging.

C.

V3.
If I click request,
will you click accept?
I guess the answer is yes
and we're fine now except
"friends" doesn't always mean friends
it always depends
here, take all my maturity.

C.

V4.
I closed my eyes and clicked the mouse
and clicked it once again
and now at least I'm an acquaintance
although it's not as good as friend
I half want to talk to you
half want to run from you
I just don't want to be obsessed.

C.

B.
Listen to me,
it's been a year,
no matter what the y tell me,
I've been so childish,
I'm stopping this immaturity,
before it spreads more,
shut all the windows
and lock up the door,
nail the pages to the floor.

C.

frank's secret fairies.

I have this theory that Frank Warren of PostSecret has these secret fairies. They know if your secret is REALLY a secret or not, and if you've told anybody, they tell him so, and that's why he doesn't post secrets that you've told to someone, because they're not really secret and the fairies told him so.

6 Underground

6 Underground from Johanna Berliner on Vimeo.

spur-of-the-moment rhyme

So I’m old news now, I guess.

Maybe it wasn’t just one request.

I was the first in a list of fifteen,

I’m not jealous but I’m going green.

no deluge will destroy and purify

When you agree with him, all you do is contradict yourself.
Whatever, I'll just go on eating chips and twirling my hair.

I found you, hallelujah

Acceptance is cool.
Friendship is better.

Yes.

It took a lot of getting lost to realize, I was already home.

When all my little idiosyncratic issues are gone, it comes down to this.

1. I'm perfectly happy with you. :)
2. I really am happy for you.

Quiero que puedemos estar solo juntos.

It's not a love story.

But please just say yes.

I'd ask for help, but I'm not willing to ask from someone who's so incredibly happy.

He's not perfect after all, sorry to burst your bubble.

You think it's funny, don't you? How would you feel if it was you?
Of course, you wouldn't know, because everyone thinks you're perfect.
At least I can recognize a flaw when I see one.
Thankfully, the only ones I know are physical. That flaw in your morality says twenty thousand things.
Sometimes I'd love to pick a fight with you. Now just isn't the time.

irony high three! (ms. callahan=<3)

you said you didn't think i'd ever been rejected, so i proved you wrong.
you said you didn't think i'd ever get rejected in the future, and here i am, afraid of rejection. i know it's a different kind of rejection than you meant, but still.

and look.
it's the same person.

your life doesn't suck as bad as it could. get over yourself.

shut up, yellow calculator.

24 posts in may,
not the 24th day, though.
24 days into may of last year,
i'd find a note under a present wrapped in brown paper, one i'd keep for months.
then i'd throw it away,
delete your number while riding in a car to a museum with a friend and some people i wanted to fit in with,
people i'd never fit in with.
they're not my kind of people,
i feel stupid now for trying to be like them.
only deleted it because they wanted to see my phone.
better not have something like that in there.
i don't hate you, even though so many people agree that i have the right to,
i want it to be okay.
clicking okay made me okay,
okay,
okay.
i thought it was over so many times,
the time when i didn't shoot the messenger,
the time when i called and you answered
and i asked and you answered,
the time when i threw it in the trash can,
the time when i deleted the number,
the time when i deleted the message.
but now, it's over,
because instead of pushing you away,
i'm pulling you closer.

eating cheese on toast

don't you try and tell me that you never loved me, i know that you did, 'cause you said it and you wrote it down.

but it's all over now, because i make good decisions. :)
maybe next time i'll take the cupcake on top, push someone around in a chair with you.
i know there's no need
for me to apologize,
but i'm still sorry.

But i'm floating away, i've got nothing to say

I lost count a long time ago.
Would it mean more if I had a number?
Maybe if I didn't have to do everything I have to do to be like you, I'd be okay,
I'm just scared of losing the only thing I've ever had.

now i have my notebook.

now i have my notebook, so here's the entire chorus.

i'll sing you a song
it's a song that i know
a song about rain
and not knowing where to go
i'll sing you a song
that has crashed through the doors
no matter what it destroys
it wants more.

(i think the tune sounds a bit like leonard cohen's "famous blue raincoat." actually, a lot like it. meaning i should probably change the tune. i'm bad at tunes. like REALLY bad.)

and a verse! actually, the verses are more like 4 verses put together.

hold on
don't do anything crazy
if you need an excuse
you can say that you're lazy

there's truth
etched deep into the stone
it's covered with moss
you can't see it alone

and the struggle to rise
from this pile of dirty money
isn't too bad
when you know that it's sunny

you can stay in the harbor,
stay in your ship
but boats aren't made to be anchored
it's time now-
that you took a trip

from what i can remember--

i'll sing you a song
it's a song that i know
a song about rain
and not knowing where to go

approximately half of the chorus of a song i started last night. (i can't remember the rest and can't be bothered to get my notebook from my backpack.)

You are my chamomile, you are my training wheel

I'll sing your song,
proudly proclaim
words that aren't mine,
I'll sing your song,
I know your tunes
are as real as the green room,
more real than mine,
and your words are stronger
than my used
and reused
and reused
ones.
I'll sing your song,
I'll sing it until I cry.

Sing that song again, the one that makes me cry, when she walks into the room and you don't know what to do.

I'd seem like I was fine, hurting a little inside, I wouldn't know why, I think I was being outshined. I was told a secret at school, she thought it would scare me. But I've seen it before, I see it every day. Why would that scare me?
It didn't.
But if Princess Pippa Pearl was avoiding the goblin Willifer, that's fine,
as long as my PrincessPippa is fine as well.
I guess I didn't realize I missed you until you started talking.

--

sweep.
it's gone.

FYI

f.
y.
i.
i don't care about numbers.
everyone's trying to get me to care about numbers.
tumblr's new function, tumblarity,
it's trying to get me to care about numbers.
it wants me to reblog other people,
other people who have reblogged and have been reblogged,
many, many times.
it wants me to post more than humanly possible
just to raise a stupid
number.

i don't care about numbers.
if you want me to care about the number of blog posts i've got,
sucks for you.
i don't care.
i'll delete as many old,
ridiculous
posts as i want,
because i don't care about numbers.

i've never really cared about numbers.
i half heartedly do my math homework,
knowing that it won't be checked in class.
everyone else cares about numbers.
stock market.
economy.
grades.
blog posts.
income.
taxes.
populations.

f.
y.
i.
i don't care.

delete, delete

delete, delete,
deleting the things i used to say
deleting the friends i used to have
deleting the clothes i used to wear,
delete, delete,
deleting my life before i was happy with it,
deleting the people i used to go crazy over,
deleting the things i used to do.
delete.
delete.
until there's barely
anything
left
for me
to hold onto.

dress

dress
Originally uploaded by green.finch

this was originally a crappy picture of maureen and the lower half of pippa.
i turned it into amazing.

mushrooms aren't fruit.

i'd start this stuff all over again
remember everything and anything.
act my heart out,
no matter what they say,
and hold on and be strong.
i loved it when you understood what i meant about the spotlights.
i loved that you noticed it and still didn't think it was weird.
it almost broke my heart when i thought you thought
a secret
was weird,
but it wasn't you,
thank you for telling me that it's okay.
loved it when you agreed,
there is second person.
there is.
tomorrow we'll hush up some librarians,
friday we'll scream and cry and laugh in one moment,
we'll write a poem and say it's pretty,
pick a flower and say it's ugly,
name some inanimate objects
and attempt homicide on dictator dictionaries and their family members,
all marked with different colors of ink.
i wonder if the stab marks are still there.

I can't quote you

Every time I read you
I want to cry
maybe I should stop reading
but I don't want to leave your world.
I guess I already have.
You don't know how sad this makes me.
We're on opposite ends of the line,
you one one side of the window,
me on the other,
doing the same things,
but so distant I can barely hear you.
Stop.
In the name of the world,
before you break it.

mockingbird

mockingbirds aren't really making a mockery of you,
they're singing about how beautiful you are,
inviting you to smile,
enjoy the day,
and sing back.

:)

Listen.

I'm sorry.
Every time you tell me to leave you alone,
it makes me want to come closer,
make sure you're okay.
We all know best,
stop acting like you know everything.
You're younger than the rest of us,
and you refuse to listen.
You're half set on giving up on all of it, forever, for life,
and you're half set on trying again.
Neither one is a good option,
It's difficult, I know,
just try to move on,
don't talk to her.
What good is talking to her going to do?
She'll maybe feel a little guilty,
but what else can she do?
She's not going to say yes.
Not again.
Don't give up altogether.
Just let her go.

Flowery :)

lots of people need to tell me lots of things

why is everyone
suddenly talking about twins?
give me a break.
christ.
everyone breaks through the wall
i'd like to
but i'm afraid to try and fail
over
and
over
again.
you say the sweetest things
to make me forget about a mermaid from a song,
over and over again.

when you asked me what it meant:
did you really expect me to know?
i don't know what half of what i've said means.
sorry?

if you need to tell me,
just tell me,
send me an email,
if i'm not online
with the green dot saying i'm there.
i'm not all there,
the green dot lies.
sometimes i'm gone.

why must you all write so much STUFF?

You're nice.
But you make me cry sometimes.
Everyone makes me cry.
They listen to songs written when the lyricist was young and naïve,
say that a secret is weird, not knowing it hurts,
say I seemed perfect,
say that they liked...
him,
who quoted an inappropriate section of a song,
not knowing,
never knowing,
that even though it's a joke,
a tasteless, ridiculous joke,
it hurts.

They listen to songs.
Isn't it obvious what they're doing,
listening to songs?
The techie falls asleep and nudges the spotlight,
in less than an instant it's moved.
Techies, stay awake and know your cues,
because you change the story when the spotlight moves.
Or maybe I'm the one who doesn't know the cues.
Maybe I'm the one who thought I got a minute more of starshine,
but really it's my exit for a while.

Can't I be the star of my own life?

He said he wouldn't leave.
Would a broken promise mean a broken heart?
Nobody knows for sure.


He was offered a pair of Soffees by a bouncy-haired naïve girl.
That's all I really remember.
Why is that all I remember?

I didn't even realize it was there.

If my jacket was a little short in the sleeves, you'd go out that very day and buy me a new one, and send it to me in a big box full of books and other clothes, and a subscription to a magazine.
I came to your house with a suitcase
and came home with bags full of fabric, a sewing table, a chair, a set of drawers, and a sewing machine, in addition to what I had before.
You taught me needlepoint.
You let me use your typewriter.
You took pictures of all aspects of the house, typed up descriptions for everything with your typewriter, and put them all in a photo album for me before my very first visit.
All this for me, and more,
and what did I ever do for you?

I made a few eggcups, painted ceramics from Color Me Mine, sent pictures...

I designed a pillow. Maybe five inches in diameter?
Designed it.
I never even made it
until after you were gone.
Until after you died.
I gave it to my dad.
Your son.
He cried.
I'm sorry.

clever usage of twenty's slang hidden inside!

You’re killing me, and you slay me, all of you, all at the same time. What is it about love that makes me go crazy?

3

I've got three words.
Long words? Not at all.
On the contrary, they're
very short. I like them,
especially when people mean them. They let you know that
you're not alone, and that you're
on their mind. You know that someone
understands exactly how you feel.

knots.

knots.
Originally uploaded by green.finch

I'm not really sure why I like this picture. I just do. :)

untitled.

(Yet another assignment. I still don’t like assignments.)

Eighth on a list meant for twenty
I can barely see my name without my glasses
but a faithful friend pushes me, in more ways than one,
and I head up the aisle.
The blue binder doesn’t really fit the podium,
and I could do with a yad, a pointer, something, anything to keep my place, get my bearing.
I need to focus.
I wish I could focus on what I’m sharing just as well as I can focus a camera,
but these tiny words need more than a macro feature to be seen clearly.
I’m projecting my voice unnecessarily, not used to microphones.
The speakers on the wall whistle at my lack of confidence.
I’m not scard of the listening ears, they can listen and hear me all they want.
It’s the watching eyes, the eyes that don’t see my words,
just the impression my nerves are letting slip under this flourescent spotlight.
There’s a round of applause
as I become another name on a whiteboard.

Pretty in Pink

(This was an assignment. I hate assignments.)


I'm there, waiting
for the flash of the camera
disposable in my mother's hand.
Waiting for the flash to reflect quickly off the mirror behind us,
a mirror without barres or bars.
I'm a queen, can't you see my paper crown? Jewels painted on the sides?
I'm a queen,
I'm waiting for my cue to exit stage left until I come around again.
My cue is the soutenus of the giraffes and lions,
that's when my chariot will run through,
more stable than the horses and elephants,
tip your hat, the queen's coming through.
A little ballerina, too, I boureé off the wooden stage of the carousel.
The zebras, horses, and dancing bears rise for a standing ovation.
Tip your hat, the queen's coming through.